


Hush Little Babies, Don't Say a Word

by Burning_Up_A_Sun



Series: Adult Education [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Parents, Jamms!Verse, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Triplets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 04:31:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5525462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for 3 weeks while Mummy stayed after the babies were born, Sherlock and John thought they knew what hard work was. </p><p>but then, Mummy left. </p><p>Sherlock is exhausted and angry. john doesn't now how to help him, but thinks of a way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hush Little Babies, Don't Say a Word

**Author's Note:**

> this starts at 8 weeks, jumps back and then returns to the 8 week mark.

Sherlock collapsed onto the mattress, jostling John awake. Barely.

“Who thought having children would be a good idea? Was that me or you, because I’m voting him off the island.” Sherlock mumbled, too weary to open his mouth to enunciate. “I'm So. Fucking. Exhausted.”

John understood. Even with Sherlock’s garbled words, he knew. To the core of his exhausted muscles, he knew.

“Which one this time?”

"Beatrice. She fell asleep before she finished her bottle at 2 am. I foolishly assumed she was full, and I put her back in her crib. Obviously, she wasn't finished because her caterwauling woke William." Sherlock pulled his bed pillow over his face, wanting to hide from the world. From John. From the hollowness in his chest.

“Then I juggled them both, trying to feed them and not wake up Teddy.” The pillow muffled the words, but not Sherlock’s flat voice.

John rolled onto his side and stroked the curve of Sherlock's hip.

"Don't," Sherlock snapped, grabbing John’s wrist and shoving it off him. "Don't touch me."

John took one deep breath. Then another, until he was able to speak without clenching his jaw. "I wasn't trying to fuck you Sherlock. I was trying to comfort you. I know you're exhausted because you're the one up at night."

John couldn’t muster the strength to think about having sex. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since they’d even tried.  
“Sherlock?” A snuffle and deep breaths answered John. Sherlock had fallen asleep in those few minutes. John took the pillow off Sherlock’s face. He kissed Sherlock’s forehead and watched him sleep.

John’s heart ached for Sherlock. They had to do something to change this, but what. He knew that it would get better; even though Sherlock couldn’t see it, the babies were already sleeping more after two months. It had just been much easier when Sherlock’s Mum had been here.  
John slipped out of bed. 3am. Considering the time difference between Florida and England, it was early but an okay time to make an international phone call.  
~~~

For 3 weeks after the triplets came home, Violet Holmes managed every aspect of their home. During the day she, John and Sherlock managed to feed the three. Bathe them. Dress them. Play with them. In addition to the regular routine of cooking and cleaning. And somehow, Violet had taken every single overnight feeding.

The men dropped into bed each night tired, but with a sense of pride and accomplishment. Their lives settled into a routine of feedings, changings and naps. With everything under control, Sherlock booked Mummy a return flight to Heathrow.

“Are you certain?” Mummy asked at the entrance to the airport security. “I'm happy to stay longer—” Her voice trailed off. From experience she knew the overwhelming exhaustion of new motherhood; she also knew her stubborn son would never listen.  
“We’ll be fine, Violet,” John reassured her, pushing the double stroller forward and back, forward and back to soothe the sleeping boys.

“Yes, Mummy. We are educated, intelligent men. We can certainly handle motherhood. Now—” Sherlock turn sideways so Mummy could kiss Beatrice without having to untangle the baby carrier he wore that snuggled Bea to his chest.

“Goodbye, little love,” Mummy whispered. “If your daddies need me, they can just call.”

The guard invited Mummy through the VIP security gate for the third time, his tone insistent. “Madam, the plane is boarding, and I promised Mr. Holmes I would personally ensure you made it on board.” He held the velvet rope open as she kissed Wills and Teddy’s heads. Mummy stepped through to security without looking back.

“She's probably telling him all about her grandchildren.” John laughed, his chest buzzing with pride as he fixed the blanket over the babies.

“Of course she is, John. Do refrain from stating the obvious.” Sherlock kissed Bea’s curls. “They are exceptional children. She _should_ talk about them.”

The two dads with their three exceptional infants left the airport.

Twice on the 40-minute drive back to Lake Jesup Sherlock pulled the car to the shoulder. The first time because Teddy’s screaming cries hammered their skulls.

“He's hungry.” John sounded sure. “I—think.” He opened up the bag to mix the powdered formula into the baby bottle filled with warm water. Instead, he held up an empty bottle with a crusty, flaked dried formula ringing the bottom. “Christ, how long is this been in the diaper bag?”

Sherlock’s patience had run out long, long ago. “Didn’t you prepare the bag before we left?”

John hesitated. “I—didn't think of it.” _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._ He shoved his index finger into Teddy’s mouth, hoping it might pacify him.

It didn’t.

Sherlock sighed. “I will take the next exit and find a convenience store.” When he parked in front of the 7-11, he reached into the glove compartment and withdrew a bottle of paracetamol. He handed two to John, who threw them back and washed them down with the last of the bottled water they’d brought.

John bit his lip and didn’t ask what _he_ was supposed to use. Inside the store, he rinsed out the baby bottle, grabbed a water from the cooler, and added the water and formula to the newly-cleaned baby bottle.

Back in the car, John showed Teddy the bottle. “Alright, little man. Look what Poppy has for you!” Teddy smiled and kicked his feet as John brought the bottle to his mouth. Within seconds, the baby’s screams began again with renewed zeal.

Sherlock swallowed his paracetamol with the bottle of water John had handed him. “Oh John. It's cold water.”

“Shit. I'm a fucking idiot. I didn’t even think to warm it; I just wanted to get the bottle to him.” John ran back into the store and poured the formula into a coffee cup. He microwaved it, intentionally slowing down to remember each step of the process.

He kneeled on the floor and fed Teddy as Sherlock returned to the road.

Just before the exit that would lead home.

They’d almost made it.

“What is that horrible stench? Please tell me we are near a waste refinement facility or possibly a water treatment plant.” Sherlock tried to breathe through his mouth, but kept forgetting and then gagged.

“I'm sitting right here, and I can tell you. No such luck.” John's voice sounded high and nasal because he refused to breathe through his nose.

“It will be 15 minutes at the most until we’re home. Can we hold out?” Sherlock asked as he pushed through an amber light.

John sniffed around each of the three car seats looking for the offender.

When he reached Beatrice, he had no question.

“Pull over, Sherlock.” John looked over his shoulder, his fingers pinching his nose shut. “Bea exploded out the diaper all up the back—”

“I will thank you not to provide any further details.” Sherlock’s face looked even more pale than usual.

Once Sherlock parked on the shoulder, John unlatched Bea’s car seat restraints and changed her on the floor. Sherlock rolled down the windows and leaned outside to breathe. John stripped the baby, cleaning as much as he could with the onesie and then the wipes.

He worked as fast as his hands allowed while Bea giggled and kicked. John used the last diaper on her and then strapped her back into her car seat. Although Bea was happy again, giggling and pulling at the dangling toy hanging from her car seat handle, John was anything but. He was hot, sweaty, nauseated, and his hands were streaked with baby shit.

“We didn’t fill up the baby bag at all before we left,” John said. “I guess your Mum used to do it. I never have.” He used the last few wipes in the package cleaning his hands and bare arms as best he could.

“How did you get it on your arms?” Sherlock thought that, between the headache and the revolting stench, odds were even-money he would vomit before they reached home.

“Don't. Ask.” John snarled as he rolled the mess into the pink terry outfit and jammed it in a plastic grocery bag he’d found on the car floor. As Sherlock merged into traffic, John rolled down his window. _I hope the Environmental Protection Agency forgives me for this_. John threw the hazardous material out the car window. Sherlock couldn’t even scold him for littering.

No matter how many things they remembered, they always forgot something. Formula. Pacifier. Clean diapers. Sometimes it was as simple as to nap while the babies nap.

When John's six-week family leave was up, Sherlock decided he would take the overnight feedings since his Ph.D. program allowed more flexibility with sleep. John would help when he could.

Some nights only one baby would awaken. If they were lucky, they’d hear the beginning cries before one of the other two woke up. At least once every night, Sherlock thought about his mother, who’d not only done all of this for him and Mycroft, but for the three babies when she’d been here.

He’d climbed into bed, wanted to be voted off the island, snapped at John, and fell asleep mid-sentence. Eight weeks. He couldn’t do this for four more days, let alone four more months. When he stumbled out of bed at 5:30am to feed Teddy, he knew he had to do something.

He picked up Teddy, cuddling him and crooning to keep him quiet as he fixed the bottle. Sherlock balanced the baby in the crook of his left arm and tested the temperature of the water on his right wrist. Once he mixed the bottle, Sherlock dialed the familiar phone number. He propped the phone between his left shoulder and cheek as he fed Teddy with his right hand.

“Sherlock, is everything alright?” Mummy answered her phone on the first ring.

He bit back his knee-jerk, snarky comment. Or, at least he found a kinder tone. “No, Mummy. I mean yes, but no.” _Christ, he wasn’t making any sense. When was the last time he’d gotten more than two hours of sleep._

Uncharacteristically, Sherlock wanted to tell his mother everything. The exhaustion that had settled so deeply into his body and his emotions. The anger that was a constant thrum under his skin. The lure of freedom that running away would provide.

Mummy cut Sherlock off. “Ever since I came home, I’ve missed those babies. I’ve told your Father I don’t want to waste a moment apart from them. We’ve packed the house and we’re moving to Florida. We’ll have to live with you and John for a few weeks until we can find the right place to live.”

Sherlock gasped and choked back a sob. He never thought he would be ecstatic to have his mother stay. On auto-pilot, Sherlock had fed, burped, and changed Teddy as he thought about an actual, honest-to-God night’s sleep.

With Teddy back in his crib, Sherlock woke John with a kiss to his shoulder.

“What’s that for?” John cracked his eyelid open.

“I’ve solved the problem. Mummy and Father are relocating here and will live with us for a few months until they find a suitable home.” Sherlock preened, knowing he’d solved this.

John smiled into his pillow. Violet’s plan was moving along just as she’d told John it would when he’d called her at 3am.


End file.
